


if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did)

by finding



Series: i don't want your body (but i hate to think about you with somebody else) [6]
Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: M/M, Skateboarding, ej in a crop top, hooking up in a parking lot (again), me shitting on disney’s characterization of ej because i'm bored of it, ricky can have a little happiness as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finding/pseuds/finding
Summary: “Water polo isn’t a douchey sport. It takes a lot of discipline and—" Ricky stares at EJ, unblinking. “Okay, fine, it’s a little douchey. Also, you’re built like a fucking string bean so don’t come for me.”Ricky laughs and bites his tongue between his teeth. He likes getting a rise out of EJ. It’s so easy. “A string bean who likes indie music and skateboards. It’s all the rage these days. Frat boys are out, Caswell. Stoners are in.”or: Ricky teaches EJ how to skate. EJ teaches Ricky something, too.
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Series: i don't want your body (but i hate to think about you with somebody else) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760380
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58





	if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did)

**Author's Note:**

> i’m kinda avoiding writing a follow-up to “when the party’s over” because it’s probably gonna be like 10k words and very emotionally taxing and i simply do not have that in me right now. so, instead, have this little fluffy one shot (with only a little bit of angst) that happens sometime between the second and third story. i’ve missed writing bitchy dialogue between these two. also there’s a scene in here that is pulled STRAIGHT out of every korean drama because that’s all i’ve been watching this summer. 
> 
> some of the language used about “Small Things” and “Big Things” is derived from the novel the god of small things by arundhati roy, which is a very good book that i would highly suggest!
> 
> title from cinnamon girl by lana del rey.

When Ricky was a kid, his mom used to tell him about _the-moments-in-between_. She said they were the quiet moments, the short and funny and beautiful ones that happened in between all the Big Things: it was catching fireflies or watching the waves roll over their feet or counting people from the window of the Italian restaurant while they wait for his dad to bring the car around.

(Ricky remembers being eight years old, watching his mom roll up her pantlegs and walk out into the warm Texas water. She stood there, water up to her calves, long brown hair whipping around her cheeks, and stared out at the horizon. He remembers thinking she looked pretty and maybe a little sad. Now, he thinks, one of those things was more the truth than the other.)

Warm Texas water and fireflies and waiting for the car to come around: those are the-moments-in-between. The Small Things that exist between the Big Things. There are a lot of Small Things with EJ: watching him drive, one hand on the wheel, feeling his ribs move up and down under Ricky’s palm as he breathes, seeing his mouth quirk up when they’d meet eyes from across the room at a party.

What Ricky feels, though, is a Big Thing. What Ricky feels can’t hide in the-moments-in-between anymore, has grown too large and untamed in a way that can’t be contained inside Small Things anymore.

But before the kiss, before the phone call, before the hug and the barn and the _You’re a fucking cliché, Caswell_ , there was a Small Thing. A-moment-in-between. A quiet and short and beautiful memory that Ricky locks up inside his heart between an image of his mom, calf-deep in warm Texas water, and Nini leaning back on a farmhouse porch, brown eyes watching a car travel up a gravel road. A place in his heart for people he loves and people who leave because they are one and the same.

It went something like this:

“You going to Ashlyn’s tonight?” EJ asks while looping a lock around the latch of the chain-link fence that surrounds the pool. The fence is barely four-feet high and disintegrating in multiple places, so Ricky’s not sure why he even bothers to lock it, but whatever.

“Haven’t decided,” Ricky responds. He’s sitting on his skateboard with his feet planted on the ground, rolling side to side, _one two one two._

EJ turns around and starts walking towards his car, a duffel bag tossed over his shoulder. “Looking for a reason to skip?”

“Not sure. Are you about to give me one?” Ricky challenges, watching as EJ opens the passenger door and tosses his bag inside before closing it. EJ leans against the Jeep and crosses his arms.

“Nah,” EJ drawls, his eyes following the motion of Ricky’s board. “I’m tired. I think I have heatstroke.”

Ricky scoffs. “You’re turning down a handjob because you think you have heatstroke?”

EJ sighs dramatically. “I’m turning down a handjob because I’ve been at this pool since six am and I want to go home and sleep.”

Ricky sticks out his bottom lip and pouts. “But I waited here all night.”

“Not my problem,” EJ says. “Also, you’ve only been here for ten minutes. And you were doing shitty kickflips for at least seven of those minutes.”

Ricky raises and eyebrow and smirks. “You noticed when I got here? That’s cute.”

“I noticed because you and gender-bent Annie aren’t exactly quiet. Do you guys _always_ listen to shitty music or just when he’s dropping you off?”

Ricky shakes his head in mock-sadness. “I’m not surprised you can’t appreciate Nicki. Disappointed, but not surprised.”

“Real funny, Bowen.”

“What kind of music _do_ you like?” Ricky asks, cocking his head. “Top 40? EDM? Maybe _The Sound of Music_. You look like you would like the sound of music.”

EJ narrows his eyes. “I look like I would like the Sound of Music,” he deadpans.

Ricky nods dramatically. “Yeah, that or Taylor Swift. I’m getting _big_ Taylor Swift energy from you.”

“I like The Beatles,” EJ offers, and if he’s sulking a bit, Ricky doesn’t mention it.

Ricky shakes his head. “Everyone likes The Beatles. That doesn’t count.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

Ricky grimaces. “My dad likes Led Zeppelin. Also, since when do you like classic rock?”

EJ rolls his eyes but doesn’t take the bait. “What about The Velvet Underground?”

“No,” Ricky says.

“No?”

Ricky shakes his head again. “Nope. You’re not allowed to like them. I like the Velvet Underground, so it’s off limits for you.”

“Oh, so you have a monopoly on them, then? Seems unfair. Maybe I liked them first.”

“Doubt it,” Ricky responds. He remembers his mom singing _I Found a Reason_ under her breath while folding laundry when he was seven. Ricky has a good memory.

“Okay, well, what about skateboarding? What if I want to like that?” EJ asks. 

Ricky rolls side to side and hums thoughtfully. “You don’t seem like the skateboarding type.”

EJ scowls and folds his arms more tightly against his chest. “Oh yeah? And what type is that?”

Ricky bites his tongue ponderously. “You know… relaxed, likes good music, paints their nails, doesn’t play water polo.”

“You don’t paint your nails,” EJ says. “Also, water polo isn’t a douchey sport. It takes a lot of discipline and—" Ricky stares at EJ, unblinking. “Okay, fine, it’s a _little_ douchey. Also, you’re built like a fucking string bean so don’t come for me.”

Ricky laughs and bites his tongue between his teeth. He likes getting a rise out of EJ. It’s so _easy_. “A string bean who likes indie music and skateboards. It’s all the rage these days. Frat boys are out, Caswell. Stoners are _in_.”

“I’m not a frat boy,” EJ says defensively, but it comes out more pouty than anything. EJ pushes off the Jeep and walks over to Ricky.

“Hi,” Ricky says, peering up at him. EJ’s wearing the same red shorts and a cropped grey t-shirt. Ricky wants to know who gave EJ the idea to wear a cropped t-shirt and thank them. Maybe he’ll even send them a card because, seriously, the two inches of exposed tan skin on EJ’s stomach is doing more for Ricky than it really should.

“Hi,” EJ responds, smiling down at him. “Get up.”

“I don’t want to,” Ricky pouts. ”You come down here.”

“You think I’m easy, Bowen?” EJ asks, shaking his head. He puts out a hand, and Ricky studies it for a second before looking up at him and blinking. “C’mon.”

Ricky grabs his hand, and EJ pulls him up in one swift motion. He kind of overestimates how much Ricky weighs and pulls with too much force, their bodies colliding. Ricky slams into EJ’s chest and lets out a soft _oh_ when EJ’s arm wraps around his waist to steady them both. Ricky stares up at him and wonders if EJ’s eyes have always been this blue. EJ’s tongue swipes across his lower lip.

Then EJ blinks and the moment is over (another Small Thing, another moment-in-between that’s heavy with the weight of what could have been, heavy with things that go unspoken). EJ unwinds his arm, and Ricky steps back. They both laugh awkwardly, though neither of them have done anything remotely funny.

Ricky’s not really sure why they’re still _here_ , to be completely honest. EJ’s not in the mood to hook up, so there’s no reason for him to stay. It’s not like they’re friends. They don’t hang out in parking lots because it’s _fun._

After a moment, Ricky speaks. “You wanna learn how to skate?”

EJ scratches the back of his head. He looks caught off guard. “What?”

“Well,” Ricky says, walking over to his board where it’s rolled over near the curb, “if you want to break out of your rich kid, water-polo stereotype, you need some new hobbies. Think of this as free character development.”

EJ rolls his eyes, but he moves towards Ricky anyways. “Whatever, Bowen.”

Ricky pushes the board towards EJ. He stops it with his foot, one bright white tennis shoe on the edge of the board. EJ looks down at it with a hint of distaste. “How long have you had this?”

Ricky shrugs and crosses his arms. “I don’t know. Four or five years, maybe. It’s been a while since I’ve split a board.”

EJ places his foot on the black surface and rolls it gently. “It’s gross,” he says while placing his full weight on the foot on the deck. He pushes forward on the pavement with his other foot and starts moving unsteadily forward. “I’ll get you a new one.”

Ricky blinks. He’s not sure if this is EJ being nice or spending money is just like breathing for EJ. He hopes it’s the money thing. He doesn’t know how to deal with EJ being _nice_. “Oh, uh—” Ricky starts, but is quickly cut off by the sound of EJ shouting.

“Fuck, Ricky, wait, fuck, how do you stop this thing—”

Ricky runs over to EJ, who’s headed straight for a tree in the corner of the parking lot. He extends a foot to try to stop the board, but it’s moving too fast and Ricky just ends up stumbling and falling forward onto EJ. They fall into the grass, EJ on his back and Ricky pressed against his chest, one arm trapped between them and the other planted on the ground where they’ve fallen. EJ’s head meets the earth with a dull _thud_ , and Ricky tries to catch his breath, the impact of the fall knocking the air out of his lungs.

Ricky lies there for a few seconds, his cheek pressed to EJ’s chest. He tries to lift himself up after a moment, but a twinge of pain shoots through his wrist. “Fuck,” he mutters. That’s his writing hand. And his handjob hand. Shit.

“Stop. Moving,” EJ grits between his teeth. Ricky shifts on top of him again, and EJ groans. He places a hand on Ricky’s hip and digs his fingers into the muscle there. “Fucking _stop_ , it hurts.”

“Sorry,” Ricky says. One of his legs is in between EJ’s, and the lines of their bodies are pressed together. Ricky doesn’t want to put his head back on EJ’s chest, but his neck is getting tired of holding it up. He rests his chin gingerly on EJ’s sternum and stares up at him. “You’re not very good at skateboarding.”

EJ turns his head to the side, so his cheek is pressing into the grass and glares at Ricky from the corner of his eye. It only lasts for a second, though, because then he bursts out laughing. Ricky feels it rumble through his chest, and stares at EJ, wide-eyed. Then, he breaks out laughing too, and lays his head back on EJ’s chest. Ricky likes the sound of his laugh, likes feeling the way EJ’s body shakes under his.

EJ goes quiet after a few seconds and lets out a sigh. His grip on Ricky’s hip loosens, but he doesn’t remove it altogether. EJ’s fingertips press lightly into his skin, and his thumb strokes slowly back and forth. Ricky lets out a shaky breath.

“I’m tired,” EJ says quietly. Ricky doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid if he speaks, EJ will snap out of it and push him away. “I’m just so fucking tired of everything.”

EJ sighs again and lifts his head up to look at Ricky. He leans up a bit and braces himself on his elbows. They stare at each other for a second, neither of them moving.

“I—” Ricky starts, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t really know what to say.

EJ shakes his head and laughs quietly. “It’s fine. Not like we’re—” Ricky lets out another shaky breath and starts to lift himself up. “Bowen, what are you—”

Ricky moves down the length of EJ’s body until he’s in between his legs, his hands braced on the ground on either side of EJ’s waist. His wrist hurts, but he ignores it. EJ’s shirt is pushed up, exposing his toned stomach. Ricky leans up and ghosts a breath over that patch of skin, then licks a slow stripe across his stomach. EJ tastes like sweat and chlorine and expensive cologne. It makes Ricky dizzy.

Ricky presses a kiss to his stomach, then moves lower to add another one to his hip. Ricky grazes his teeth against the jut of bone, likes the way EJ’s breath hitches when he does. He follows the v of his hips down, then stops when he reaches the red band of EJ’s shorts.

“Have you ever done this before?” EJ asks, a little out of breath.

“No,” Ricky responds quietly, his breath hot on EJ’s skin. His heart beats slowly, languid, in the evening summer heat. The sun’s about to set, and it’s quiet where they are, hidden under the tree.

“Okay,” EJ says. “That’s okay. I can tell you how.”

Ricky doesn’t respond, just nods once, twice. EJ brings a hand to the back of Ricky’s head and slides his fingers through the brown curls. Ricky thinks of EJ’s hands, of long fingers, perfect half-moon nails, a wide palm cradling his skull.

EJ’s gentle when he guides Ricky’s head, when he holds back and tries not to jerk into Ricky’s mouth. It’s slow and warm and probably messier than it should be, but EJ doesn’t say anything other than _good_ and _yeah_ and _just like that, baby_ in low choked tones. When EJ comes, he only waits for a second before flipping them over and stroking Ricky until he’s shaking.

When they’re leaving, EJ pauses for a moment, his hand on the handle of the driver’s-side door. He flashes Ricky a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and it makes Ricky’s heart seize up in his chest, feels like it’s going to break his ribs. It’s not a smirk or a grimace, but a real, kind smile, soft at the edges.

So Ricky takes that smile, takes a black skateboard and the taste of chlorine on his tongue and the words _just like that, baby_ , and he folds them into a rose in his palm. He folds the moment up, with gentle hands and clean, origami lines, and places it in that empty space behind his ribs. _His._


End file.
